Enduring
by Oparu
Summary: 2nd person Elizabeth's POV mostly smut post-Sunday ficlet. She turns to John when she can't find her way.


You lick the tip and it's already wet. Your thumb slides along the end of his dick, running a neat half circle that makes him groan and dig his hand tighter into your shoulder. You toy with his dick, squeezing it slightly before you open your lips and pull him into your mouth. His hands slips along the back of your head, tossing your hair before he softly pulls you closer. Sucking surprised him, and you pull his dick further into your throat just to prove you can.

"Sorry," he murmurs in the back of his throat. His thumb rests gently on your forehead and you start to chuckle. Pulling away, you tease him with your tongue and pout as he drags his eyes off of the ceiling to look at you.

You can't stop thinking about that wanting in his eyes. When you're desperate and empty inside, you can make him beg for you. His hand is softer and the other finds your wrist and strokes it slowly. It's a feat of concentration for him but he chokes through the tightness in his throat.

John reaches for your free hand, groping until you let him have it. "Fuck, 'lizabeth," he pants and shivers when you toy lazily with the tip of his dick with a wicked tongue.

"Shhh," you suggest as you shift position. Your hair, much longer now than it was when you met, keeps getting the way, so you try to tuck it behind your neck. Releasing you hand long enough to help you, his gentle fingers dance down your skin and you start to tighten your grip on him. He groans again in soft frustration when the tip of your tongue grazes him once again.

"Tease," he accuses you as he twists and reaches for your breast. You think you aren't quite ready to be touched, but you shiver when his hand closers around the sensitive flesh. You swallow and he feels it against his thigh. He squeezes your breast a moment longer and reaches up to start undoing the buttons of his dress blues. The medals and ribbons clink against each other as your free hand runs up the white shirt beneath. He shrugs it off one shoulder and you take his dick into his mouth before he can move. Careful to keep him still, you wrap your hand around his hip and start pulling his black boxer shorts free.

This was just a conversation, a few minutes ago you were holding back tears.

Then he kissed you.

Then you remembered the way he begs you to touch him. How his eyes go dark and wild when he's inside of you. You knew you should have resisted, but you wanted him. You needed to be touching him, even though you aren't sure you deserved to be touched. Carson died on your watch.

You pull his boxers lower and move your head with his hips so he can feel more of you surrounding him. John groans again and leans back, forgetting his jacket as he reaches for your shoulder. You feel his hand dig into the muscles of your shoulder, feeling him tighten and release as you pull him further into your throat. Your jaw complains slightly, but you put it in the back of your mind because he's enraptured with you. He's wrapped up in the sensation of you so completely that his leg tightens against the bed.

Running your fingers under his balls, you feel him wince and remember how cold he thinks your fingers are. His are always warm, and the thought of them deep within you makes you start to ache. You squirm again, feeling him start to thrust into your mouth. Holding his hips down with your hands, you pull him almost out of your mouth and listen to the catch in his breath. The air is cold without you, and he thrusts back desperately into the warmth wetness of you. You let your breast drag along his leg, knowing he can feel you through the thin fabric of your camisole.

The hand on your shoulder nearly become painful, but he releases suddenly and desperately grabs the sheet instead as he starts to pull out of your mouth. You catch his eyes over his chest and hold him inside while he explodes behind your lips. It's hot and sudden, and you nearly gag because it's in the back of your throat. As you let him slip away, his dick softens in your hand and you pull away, covering your lips before you wipe them with the back of your hand. It's bitter and you must be wincing as you swallow because he looks apologetic.

The hand in your hair runs gently down the back of your neck and he pulls you up. When you're against his chest, he kissing you softly, his way of apologizing for the taste. John slips out of his jacket and it passes through your hands on your way to the chair by his bed. Your suit coat is already there, and his dress blues slump over it, as if sheltering the black fabric of your own funeral clothes. Holding you against his slightly damp undershirt, he gives up and pulls it off. With your cheek against his chest you sigh and start to relax. The ache between your legs resurfaces as his fingers trail lazily over your breast. Having them toy with your neck makes you squirm slightly and when he kisses you again he's asking for your permission.

Your uncertainty and residual self loathing fades into the twinge of heat in your crotch. You don't deserve to feel alive, not with Carson dead, but his lips toy with your ear. John whispers and you feel yourself flush. His breath is nearly as warm as his lips as he works his way down your neck. You don't remember when you took off your jacket, you may not have even had it on when you came to his quarters, but the only thing blocking his hands is the soft silk of the camisole and the flimsy bra beneath it. It's not much and his hands make their way through easily.

John rubs a nipple against his palm and his eyes settle on yours. "Feel better?" he asks gently. His voice is still soft and you grin wickedly because you know you were good.

"I needed to do something," you reply and hope he understands. The hand on your breast slips free of your shirt and traces a lazy pattern down your stomach. He toys with the waistband of your black dress pants and you part your legs. One knee falls slowly off the side of his bed and he grabs the other one. John turns you around, pulling you towards him as both of his hands reach for your pants. The two buttons, one inner and one outer, slide aside beneath knowing fingers. Sometimes you forget he was married and understands all of your clothing at least as well as you do. One finger slips into your pants as you sigh and reach for him. Wanting his tongue in your mouth, you beg with lips as you invade his.

John Sheppard has not earned his reputation for philandering by being a poor kisser and it only takes a moment or two for you to forget that your eyes still sting with tears you won't let yourself shed. Not until the city has had their chance to grieve can you take yours. You weren't even sure you would allow yourself the comfort of John's touch on your skin, but that you couldn't deny yourself once he touched you. One hand on your cheek and you were pushing him towards the bed.

Sometimes you love him because he doesn't argue with you.

Lifting your hips lets him peel the tight pants from your hips. He's gentle, almost overly so as he frees your feet. Taking the time to kiss the top of one of them, he chuckles as you try to avoid squirming away. "How are you going to bribe me to keep that a secret?" he teases as he finds a place on your neck to lick a slow line down towards your shoulder.

"I'll keep quiet about your action figures," you murmur drolly and he starts to slide you up towards the head of the bed. John's hands are on your inner thighs and he's still chuckling next to your ear. "As long as no one knows I'm ticklish."

"Captain Picard was the best," he insists as he starts pulling your panties off your hips. "No matter what anyone says about Kirk."

Leaning against the wall, you nuzzle his neck and let him pull your panties off your ankles. John runs his hands the full length of your legs. He loves to tease you, but you know he likes that it takes so long for him to run his hands across them. He toys with the stubble on your knee and you remember the time when you would have flushed in embarassment, now you just smile. Staring at you, naked below the waist, he smiles and runs the back of his hand across your inner thigh. Playfully resting the back of his hand against you, he rubs against you and you sigh.

John pulls you down, moving you towards the edge of the bed. There's a headless abandon to it, feeling your bare feet on the floor and his ear brush against your thigh. His right hand rests on your stomach as he raises your hips with a pillow. You've wondered why he does it, but usually a few moments of lips make you forget to ask. You know to trust him. His tongue runs along your thigh and teases it's way towards your vulva. John tries the edges first, tasting the wetness of you as you curl on his bed. Some days it's slow and you're grateful for his patience, tonight there's something festering in your heart and even though he's gentle, his fingers are a hard shock. He curls them up before he pulls out.

"Okay?" he asks softly turning his head to kiss your knee. His fingers are still but you can almost feel them moving. His thumb moves up to brush against your clit and you make a hushed noise in your throat instead of speaking.

"Good," you sigh finally as you reach down towards him. You fumble for his hand and find it. He squeezes it for a moment, letting you hang on as long as you need to.

There are tears in your eyes when he drops his mouth to your clit. You hush the gulped moan in your throat and wrap your free hand around the sheet. It's damp from John's sweat and you can smell him all around you. His fingers start to move again, reaching up and starting something building within you. You were afraid you couldn't, that the intolerable numbness was all through you, not just in your chest, but your body wants him. You close your eyes and lose yourself in the slow motion of his fingers. His tongue is gentle yet demanding, you lift your hips into him and he pulls your clit further into your mouth. It took some time before the trust between you was enough for each of you to know what to do.

John knows when he can push you, and he's learned when he can't. Faster than you thought he could read you, he had his fingers teasing you until you screamed. You always thought you didn't. Simon thought you were thoughtful, nearly soulful in bed. You thought that you were quiet. With John you're different, you gasp and he moves faster and sometimes you're terribly afraid that you might actually love him. found this part of you again. When you stifle another cry, he presses his fingers up and in and moves his tongue quickly, harsh enough to make you gasp.

Crudely squeezing his hand, you remind yourself to let go. You stop thinking about Carson and explosive tissues and your people lying in the infirmary. You let go of his hand and wrap your fingers in the sheet. He pulls you down, angles his head and his tongue moves faster. Faster still and your head starts to spin. You arch your back off the bed and teeter on the edge between the incredible pleasure of his touch and the exquisite pain of extraordinary stimulation. Finally what he's waiting for rips out of your throat and he stops. Your knees are trembling and he climbs between them. Your whole body sings, vibrating with the simple joy of completion. He slips through them and pulls you against his chest. John starts to kiss your forehead but you just bury your face in his neck. Your body is content, hanging in the incredible haze of his touch, but your mind

won't stop. You can't stop.

John kisses you again and he sees the tears on your cheeks. You try to brush them away but he stops your hands. You can feel the dampness of yourself on his skin but he holds you. He won't let you go. The shaking could be from orgasm or sleep deprivation, but it feels better to be wrapped against him. John pulls you into his chest and listens as your breathing slows and returns to normal. it would possibly end here -Opal Mattila 3/23/08 9:27 PM Tears are wet and running hot down your face when you start kissing him again. His eyes ask questions but you shake your head and keep kissing him. Bending your knees to straddle him, you tear his shirt off over his head. Guiding his hands to your breasts, you help him slid your bra off and the camisole drifts to the floor.

You can taste yourself on his lips and his hands are hungry for more of you. Rubbing your body over him, you feel him stiffen. Once he grabs your breast, you moan his name and he starts to harden against your stomach.

"Slowly," he suggests with a half-smile. "I take longer to catch up." You grind your hips against him, ignoring your clit until it stops throbbing. Stiffening beneath you, you sigh as he finds his way inside with his fingers. Rewarded by your moan, he kisses you harder. Pulling his fingers out, he runs one around in a slow circle until he knows you're ready. Your hands join his and you guide him in together. Your eyes lock and through the sleep deprivation and your joined grief connects you in a way you didn't think was possible. You barely feel him within you until he starts to move and you move with him.

At first you move in unison, then you break apart, finding the counterpoint that drives him that much deeper within you. His eyes stay locked on yours, he's further into your soul than you ever thought possible. He knows the things you aren't yet able to say. Maybe it's more than his body that keeps bringing you back. In his presence, you're comfortable naked, not just physically, but truly stripped of everything you hold up between yourself and the world.

Your nose brushes his and he smiles wryly. Kissing his chin, you close your eyes just for a second and he coaxes them open with a grunt. You're having trouble concentrating so he flips you, bending your knee up and back as he looks for better leverage. Trapped between him and the smell of him on his bed, you loose yourself in his eyes. Your body has it's own wants and you tilt up, letting your clit rub against the soft hair on his stomach. His hands wrap around you, one holding you close for leverage and the other slips around, taking some of the wet and running it up to your sensitive nerves.

Crushing you against his chest makes the hair tickle your nipple and you wonder aimlessly when they became so sensitive. Kissing him gentles the rushing of your heart, the sounds in your throat make him nudge your eyes back to his.

"Look at me," he orders and the soft authority makes you stop for a moment. In that moment, he's hard inside of you, his fingers rub over your clit but it's his eyes that drill into you. His soul is yours, he's handing it to you with all the honesty in his heart and you suddenly realize you want to take it.

After that moment, your orgasm seems like an afterthought. The shuddering of your body beneath him as he thrusts his way to join you. He's hot and wet inside you and you can feel his ejaculate seep into you. He starts to pull out and you shake your head. Biting your lip, you unclench the desperate hand in his hair and rest it on his back. "Stay," you plead with hissing breath. He nods and his lips brush against your cheek.

Pulling back, John rests against your chest and lets you hold him for once. "How's your speech?" he asks thoughtfully pulling you back to reality.

"I went with George Fabricius," you explain as he slips to the side and rests on his elbow. True to your request, your bodies are still joined together. Your foot runs down his leg and you sigh around the knot in your throat. "I couldn't find a Scottish poet that really worked."

"Carson would say it's too grand for him," John points out as he smiles over at you. Reaching for his watch on the nightstand, you bury your still-stinging eyes in his neck. "But I like it."

"John-" the hesistation in your voice says it for you.

"Me too."


End file.
